


It's Just a Day

by defying3reason



Series: College Boys and High School Girls [12]
Category: Les Misérables (2012), Les Misérables - All Media Types, Les Misérables - Schönberg/Boublil, Les Misérables - Victor Hugo
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Friendship, M/M, Wedding
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-03-31
Updated: 2014-03-31
Packaged: 2018-01-17 17:14:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,477
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1396033
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/defying3reason/pseuds/defying3reason
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Despite being one of the first couples in their clique to get engaged, it takes quite a few years and a few false starts to get Enjolras and Grantaire to the altar.</p><p>Part of the College Boys and High School Girls fic 'verse.</p>
            </blockquote>





	It's Just a Day

**Author's Note:**

> Hey guys! I think the only way I'm getting this "one-shot" written is to make it a multi-chapter fic. Grantaire's being rather difficult (is anyone surprised though?)
> 
> Also, I've got a half-started draft for Joly and Bossuet's wedding sitting around somewhere. I meant it when I said I wasn't going to let Enjolras and Grantaire steal the marital spotlight from them. I just...need to actually write that part out. Not sure if I'm going to do any of the other weddings though. Pretty sure these'll get repetitive and my muse will stop cooperating. 
> 
> Anywho, welcome back to the 'verse and please let me know what you think of it :)

Grantaire was four years sober the morning of his wedding.

As soon as he woke up he darted out of bed, ran down the hall, and violently threw up in the toilet. It was nostalgic for him. He didn’t often begin his mornings feeling ill and shaky anymore, though it had been regular enough when he’d been a student.

Courfeyrac magically materialized in the doorway. His strong hands rubbed Grantaire’s back, and once he was finished puking Courfeyrac handed him a complimentary hotel mini-mouthwash bottle. “Thanks,” Grantaire croaked.

“I’d figured you were going to be nervous.”

“I don’t know where this is coming from. I was fine last night.” Which was only a little of a lie, but he’d been _mostly_ fine. Certainly fine enough to walk down the aisle and…and then he was dry heaving into the toilet before he could finish the thought.

“That was then,” Courfeyrac crooned gently. “This is the day, the big one.”

Grantaire wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and groaned. “Aren’t you supposed to be calming me down?”

“Yep, so kindly let me finish.” Courfeyrac stood up and leaned his hip against the hotel sink, thoroughly untroubled by Grantaire’s nerves and surliness. “I’m acknowledging a totally normal and natural feeling of jitteriness that will quickly pass when you realize that this is just a day with a ceremony in it. We’re partying with our friends to celebrate you and Enj and your strange, awesome, totally inspiring love for each other. This is the fourth wedding in our group. You know how awesome it’s going to be, so take a deep breath and calm down.”

Grantaire nodded. Courfeyrac was right. Joly and Legle’s wedding had been a blast, Marius and Cosette’s nothing short of magical, and Eponine and Feuilly’s a small but beautiful affirmation of their love. Grantaire knew his friends could be dramatic at times, but they kept that drama away from weddings. It was going to be a good day.

It was…

“What if Enjolras doesn’t show-ow!” Grantaire rubbed at his face, and tried to muster a glare for his friend but was too heartsick to accomplish it.

After delivering the smack, Courfeyrac stepped back and held up his hands. “You told me to hit you if you said that.”

Grantaire scowled, which made his cheek sting all the more. “I didn’t expect you to leave a fucking hand print!”

“Well quit being a baby.”

“Hey, I’m getting married today. I’d like to do so without a big fucking red mark on my face. You’re the worst Best Man ever.”

Courfeyrac laughed and clapped him on the shoulder. “That’s the spirit.” He helped Grantaire to his feet and forced him over to the sink to give his mouth a swish. Once that was finished, Courfeyrac herded him over to the bedroom they were sharing with Grantaire’s groomsmen and women.

Grantaire collapsed on the end of the mattress and tangled his fingers in his hair, digging at his scalp. When he looked up again Courfeyrac had his phone out. “Holy fuck. You’re not taking a picture of me like this, are you?” The bastard had promised to thoroughly document his stupid babies’ big day, a threat Grantaire feared him making good on.

“Nope. Just texting Eponine. She wanted to be notified the instant you woke up. I guess Feuilly left to join Enjolras and Combeferre over an hour ago now.” Eponine had wanted to crash in the room with them, but the couple had had some difficulties securing a sitter for all the festivities, and so they’d both stayed in the night before rather than having to pick who had to miss out. Valjean was going to bring the children to the ceremony with him though, so they were both free to help their friends with the wedding prep.

Grantaire checked the time on the alarm clock, blinked, and then scrutinized it more closely, not sure he was seeing it right. “Jesus. They were up at five?”

“Yep.” Courfeyrac smirked. “Methinks our fearless leader is a bit nervous too.”

“Why the fuck should he be nervous? Of course I’m going to show up- _ow_! Fucking stoppit! That one wasn’t me implying he was going to ditch me at the altar.”

“The spirit was the same. Grantaire, I took a solemn vow and I intend to uphold it.”

“Solemn vow my hairy ass! I was half joking, you useless shit stain.”

“Well that was rather stupid of you; you must have realized I was going to take every chance I got to hit you for being stupid. Now hurry up and make yourself presentable. Eponine’s getting the kids ready as we speak.”

A low groan was heard from the sleeping bag by the door. It turned into a “fuck you” partway through. Then Bahorel flipped them off and dropped back to sleep.

“Does this mean we have to get up too?” For some reason, Legle was in the walk-in closet. He peered out into the room, sleepy and kind of adorable in his confusion.

“We should, yeah,” Courfeyrac said. “There’s a lot to do. Plus Eponine’s not going to let any of you stay asleep once you get here. Hey, where’d Cosette go?”

Cosette was the last member of Grantaire’s groomspersons. As the sole lady sharing the hotel room with them, she’d been given a respectful space on the couch despite her assurances that she didn’t mind sleeping on the floor. Grantaire and Courfeyrac had shared the bed, even though Grantaire had wanted one of his friends to use it. He’d been whapped upside the head by just about everyone for that, for which he’d whined about the injustice of them insisting that as groom he should be the most comfortable, yet none of them were concerned about smacking him around. Good friends, really.

Grantaire snagged his phone off the nightstand to shoot Cosette a text and found one waiting for him from Enjolras. His hand shook a little when he opened it. It was only a ‘good morning’ followed by a heart, but he still dropped his phone.

“I don’t know if I can go through with this, guys,” Grantaire whispered. Thankfully, no one hit him that time. Courfeyrac slung an arm over his shoulder, and a moment later Bahorel had somehow gotten onto the bed sleeping bag and all and taken up a position akin to a massive slumbering dog at Grantaire’s side. He appreciated the attempt at comfort. It helped his nerves a little.

Then Cosette walked into the room, looking like an angel in her pale robe and slippers, chestnut hair cascading around her lovely face. The most angelic feature was probably the tray of coffees she carried though.

She smiled knowingly, sat down on the mattress at his side and pressed one of the warm cups into his hand.

For a few blessed minutes silence reigned while they sipped at their coffees. Grantaire was able to put off confronting his issues, but then the coffee was gone and Courfeyrac was nudging him towards the bathroom and the shower. “I laid out something lovely for you, dear,” he teased.

Grantaire had a minor panic attack in the privacy of the tiled walls, and when he returned to his friends Eponine had arrived in full on harassed mommy mode, mad at the world and mad at Grantaire for putting her through the ordeal of getting small children ready for formal wear. As though she hadn’t had a fucking wedding herself.

He knew then that he couldn’t do it. He couldn’t deal with the people. He already wasn’t getting enough air just sharing a room with a handful of his closest friends, let alone their whole clique of clingy ass dramatic friends-as-family substitutes, _actual_ family, casual acquaintances and coworkers. Grantaire was becoming reasonably famous as a comic book artist and the wedding had turned into a surprisingly big deal. There was even going to be a photographer from some gay rights blog because Enjolras had to turn even their fucking wedding into a cause.

Grantaire wanted to throw up again. He could feel the coffee roiling around in his stomach.

“Grantaire?” His friends started crowding around him and no one was smiling anymore. Fuck, but he couldn’t get married like this. He couldn’t do this to Enjolras. It was supposed to be a happy day and he couldn’t even breathe.

Cosette waved an imperious hand and Legle and Courfeyrac immediately backed up. Eponine had to grab Bahorel by the elbow and yank him to the other side of the room. Then Cosette gently tapped Grantaire’s shoulder. “Hon, take a few deep breaths with me, okay?”

“Guys,” Courfeyrac muttered. He tilted his head towards the door, and everyone filtered out, leaving Grantaire alone with Cosette.

She helped him get his breathing under control, then they sat on the bed and she held his hand. “Grantaire, are you going to be okay?”

He tried to speak a few times, but nothing came out. Cosette didn’t rush him. She wanted patiently, small hand eclipsed by his the entire time, and eventually he gave his head a feeble shake. “I can’t. It’s not…not anything I can be talked out of. I _know_ better, okay? I just can’t calm down. I can’t fix this. I can’t-I can’t fucking breathe-”

“Sweetheart, deep breaths. Just keep breathing in and out. That’s all you need to do right now.” She kissed his cheek, then let go of his hand and crossed the room. Grantaire was vaguely aware of her having a hushed conversation on her cellphone, but he followed her instructions and focused on his breathing instead. He was marginally calmer when she sat down next to him again.

“I just talked to Enjolras. He’s on his way over to get you.”

Grantaire slumped over and hid his face in his hands. “Fuck. I’m sorry.”

“Sweetheart, don’t worry about it. He’s not mad. We can postpone everything, and it’s fine. No one’s mad at you.”

That was a fucking lie because Grantaire was pissed with himself.

He was curled into a fetal position on the floor when Enjolras got there. Perfect as ever, Enjolras tried to pretend he wasn’t hurt, but those expressive eyes always gave him away. Enjolras held him for a few minutes, and whispered pretty things in his ear, and he kept an arm braced around his back when they walked out of the hotel and down to the car, past the worried and, as far as Grantaire could tell, disappointed looks on his friends’ faces. Though really there was every chance he was projecting his self-disgust everywhere he looked.

They didn’t talk during the drive back to their condo. Enjolras gave Grantaire the space he knew he needed, though that might have been a matter of practicality as well. He had a lot of people to contact and arrangements to make to postpone things.

Grantaire was once more in his fetal position, this time on their bed, when Enjolras sat down with him to talk about it. Before he even said anything, before he even sat on the fucking bed, Grantaire felt his eyes well and he hid his face in the crook of his elbow.

The slender fingers softly carding through his hair helped. Hell, being in _their_ space without so many damn people looking at him with expectations and telling him he had to be fucking happy had been infinitely helpful, but Grantaire was always a sucker for tactile comfort. He could breathe perfectly well with Enjolras doing that, even if the self-loathing was still there.

“I’m sorry,” Grantaire whispered.

“Don’t be. ‘Taire, you explained everything to me up front. We knew there was a chance you would have a bad day and that you wouldn’t be able to get through it. I’m disappointed, but not in you.” Enjolras hugged him from behind, wrapping his arms securely around Grantaire’s waist, and kissed a spot between his neck and shoulder. “What can I do to help?”

Grantaire tried and failed once more to say anything substantive. “I-I’m fucking sorry. I’m sorry. I love you, I swear and I’m fucking sorry I couldn’t…that I…that you…fucking hell.”

“’Taire, ssh…calm down. Love, please, it’s okay.”

“No it’s not!” Grantaire let out a whimper and curled in on himself more tightly. “I can’t even walk down a fucking aisle. It’s just a stupid ceremony that most of our friends have already done, and I fucking panicked. What the fuck is wrong with me?”

“It’s not your fault, Grantaire. You’ve done a lot of work to overcome your issues, and you’ve done so beautifully. I’m proud of you every day, and I love you. It’s okay that you couldn’t do this today. We’ve both said before that it’s just a ceremony. It doesn’t change anything between us, it just celebrates what’s already there. Please stop crying before I start.”

“H-huh?”

Enjolras made a sound that was almost a sob, which he attempted to muffle by kissing Grantaire again. “I really don’t like seeing you worked up like this,” he whispered. “And I hated waking up in bed without you this morning. I think we approached this wedding thing entirely wrong.”

Grantaire let out a relieved breath. “Me too.” He turned in Enjolras’ arms and watched as the worried expression his lover wore turned slowly to relief and then fondness. “It was too fucking formal. That was great for Marius and Cosette, but it’s not us. Everything felt fucking weird.”

“Mm.” Enjolras rested his head on Grantaire’s chest, and Grantaire found himself doing the cuddling instead of being cuddled, something he was perfectly okay with. “I don’t want to be as casual as Feuilly and Eponine though. It worked for them…but that’s not us either.”

Grantaire grinned, trying and failing to even imagine doing anything like Feuilly and Eponine’s wedding with Enjolras. They’d started out at a tattoo parlor in Salem, where Eponine and Feuilly had gotten their “rings” tattooed on their left fingers. Then they’d headed down to Dead Horse Beach where a Justice of the Peace was waiting, the couple had said their “I do’s” and everyone had walked up the street to the Willows amusement park to feast on bad Chinese food and play skee ball.

It had been fun and relaxing, but it wasn’t them. They needed to do something that felt right, to both of them.

Enjolras didn’t press the issue and Grantaire didn’t dare try to make any kind of concrete plans when he was still dancing on the precipice of a breakdown. They went to bed early, giving and receiving reassurances that they were still very much in love and very serious about taking this step. To his infinite surprise, Grantaire was even smiling when he drifted off to sleep.

%MCEPASTEBIN%


End file.
